by Beth Wiseman
“You’re perfect.”
She looked at Josiah’s profile. His expression remained impassive, as usual. But she couldn’t get the image of the way he looked at her out of her mind. Her body suddenly went hot, then cold as realization dawned. She shivered, hugging her arms around her body, despite the relative warmth of the evening.
It’s Josiah, isn’t it, Lord? He’s the one You’ve set apart for me.
Perhaps she had always known, even when they were younger. That had to be the reason she’d been devastated by his leaving, and why his rejection upon his return had hurt so much. There had always been that hollow part inside her heart. Now she knew why she had never married, why no man had ever piqued her interest. Only one man held her heart, one man she loved completely, and one she suspected loved her in return.
Now if only she could figure out why he held those feelings back.
She waited for him to say something. Normally she would pepper him with questions and demand answers, but she had learned that method only pushed him further away. Lord, what should I do?
A short while later Josiah guided the buggy onto their dirt road. Their houses came into view, and he still hadn’t said anything to her. When he reached his driveway, he hesitated, clearly unsure whether to turn in or take her to her house.
“I can walk from your barn,” she said, deciding for him.
He nodded and turned the buggy, making his way up the driveway.
Her frustration climbed as he yanked on the reins, signaling Tater to stop. “Josiah, you haven’t said one word to me since we left. Is something wrong?”
“Nee.” He shrugged, then moved to get out of the buggy.
“I hate when you do that!” She knew she sounded as immature as Peter, but she couldn’t help it. She was tired of Josiah being cold toward her one minute and hot the next.
“Do what?” He turned and looked at her.
At least she’d gotten his attention. “Shut me out. Don’t you think we should at least talk about what happened tonight? And don’t act like you don’t know what I’m referring to.”
He let out a long sigh. “I know what you mean. And I definitely don’t want to talk about it.”
She put her hand on his arm, her fingertips resting lightly on the bare skin of his forearm. The muscles twitched underneath her touch, spurring her courage. “Josiah, there’s something going on between us. I feel it. I know you feel it.”
“Amanda,” he said, pain streaking his tone.
“Why are you running away?”
“Because that’s how it has to be.” His gaze bored into her, filled with intensity. “What I said to you tonight . . . it was a mistake.”
He couldn’t have hurt her more if he had tried. “A mistake?”
“Ya. I didn’t mean it the way you thought I did.”
“And how was that, exactly? Have you suddenly become a mind reader?”
“You’ve always been easy to read, Amanda. Look, I didn’t mean to lead you on. I might have said . . . something . . . to make you think I had feelings for you. But it was only out of friendship.” He gave her a half smile. “We used to say goofy stuff to each other all the time, remember?”
She moved to withdraw her hand from his arm, her feelings stinging from his admission. But then she searched his face, met his eyes. “You’re lying,” she said softly, more confused than ever. “You’ve never lied to me before, Josiah Bontrager. Don’t think you can start now.”
He moved his arm from beneath her hand. “I’ve got to put Tater up.” He turned his back to her and jumped out of the buggy.
Amanda clamped her lips together. He wasn’t getting off this easily. “Josiah,” she said as she got out of the passenger side. “You can’t just walk away from this. From us.”
He unhitched Tater from the buggy and started to lead her to the barn. “There is no us, Amanda.”
She followed him. “There has always been an us, Josiah.” She paused, waiting for him to lead Tater to her stall. When he latched the door shut, she continued. “We were inseparable as kids.”
“We were friends,” he said, his palm lying flat against the stall door.
“Ya, that we were. But when you left . . .” She took a deep breath, her body shaking with emotion. “You took a part of me with you.”
He didn’t say anything, only leaned his forehead on the stall door, his hat tilting back on his head.
The light continued to fade in the barn, and she had difficulty seeing his face. She moved closer, until only inches separated them. “You’re still holding that part of me, Josiah. I don’t know if you even realize it.”
He drew in a sharp breath and stepped away from her. “Mandy,” he whispered, his voice thick. “Don’t . . . don’t do this.”
“Do what? Be honest with you? Tell you how I feel?” She had exposed her feelings this far, she might as well lay bare her soul. “Tell you I love you?”
Clamping both hands on his head, he exclaimed, “Don’t say that!”
“I’m not like you, Josiah. I can’t turn feelings off and on whenever it suits me.”
He dropped his hands. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing. And I don’t understand why.”
“You want some understanding? You’ve got it. And when I’m finished, you’ll wish you’d never known me.”
Josiah gulped for air as Amanda looked at him, love brimming in her eyes. “Nothing you could say would drive me away, Josiah. I told you that before, and I meant it.”
“That’s because you don’t know the facts.” He took off his hat and tossed it on the stack of hay bales nearby. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, because if he didn’t do something with his hands, he’d lose his mind. Why was she pushing so hard? She said she loved him, but he didn’t deserve her love. He had to make her understand that.
He watched as she moved to the door of the barn. He thought she might leave, until she picked up one of the old lanterns hanging on a peg near the door. She retrieved a match from the match holder bolted to the wall and lit it.
She walked toward him, her beautiful face illuminated by the soft yellow glow. “I want to see your face when you tell me, Josiah,” she said, moving closer to him. “And I want you to look at me. Because when you’re finished telling me your secrets, I want you to see that I still love you.”
His throat hitched. Unconditional love. That was what she was offering him, even before she knew what he had done. He did not think he could love her any more than he did at that moment. But it would only take a few words from him to destroy what she felt for him.
“Things were bad when Mamm got sick,” he said, his memory sending him back to that terrible time when he had just turned twelve and he found out his mother had cancer. She had survived for almost a year before she succumbed. “Daed was angry all the time, especially when Mamm went into the hospital that last time. He’d always had a temper, but I never saw him raise a hand to her, ever. But . . .”
“He hit you?” She brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. “Josiah, I had no idea.”
“No one did. He’d always say he was sorry afterward. And he really didn’t do it all that often . . . usually when I broke a rule or didn’t do my chores.”
“That’s no reason to strike a child.”
“I know that now. But when Mamm got sick, he started smacking me harder. More often. Sometimes he’d bring me out here.” He glanced over his shoulder at the far corner of the barn, where the horse whip and stool remained. “He didn’t always use his fists.”
“Josiah, that’s awful.” Tears shimmered in her eyes.
“After Mamm passed, Daed just broke down. He stopped going to work, stopped caring about anything. He only spoke to me when I got in his way. After a while I avoided him as much as I could, and worked at my onkel’s shop every chance I got. Pretty soon the only income we had came from the money I made working there. I resented him for that, and it wasn
’t long before we were arguing all the time.
“Then one day I came home from the shop, and Daed told me to pack my clothes, that we were leaving. He didn’t tell me where, or why, just that we had to geh. We drove into Paradise and met a man who had arranged to buy our buggy and horse, and then he hired someone to take us to Indiana. He planned it all out and didn’t tell me anything.” He paused and looked at her. “That’s why I didn’t tell you good-bye. I would have if I’d had the chance.”
“I know, Josiah.” She sniffed and wiped her cheek. “I never resented you for leaving. I just wished I had known what was going on.”
“What could you have done about it? No one knew what Daed did to me. He made sure not to leave any visible marks. I don’t know if my aenti and onkel had any idea either. Besides, at that point I figured I deserved what I got.”
“How can you say that?”
“I was young; he was my dad. I believed him.” Josiah started to pace the width of the barn. “I could never do anything right. I was in the way. Everything was my fault.” He stopped and looked at Amanda. “You hear that enough, you begin to believe it’s true.”
Chapter Twelve
AMANDA COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT JOSIAH HAD JUST TOLD her. How could she have lived next door to him all those years, been his best friend, and not known that his father abused him? But as more and more memories came to the front of her mind, she realized there were subtle signs. The fact that he never wanted to go near his barn. That the year after his mother died, he never invited her in his house. The underlying sadness she had attributed to grief over his mother’s death.
“Did my parents know?” she asked, dread pooling in her belly. “Please tell me they didn’t know.”
“I’m not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. They couldn’t have done anything.”
“They could have confronted your daed! They could have gone to the bishop!” The lantern shook in her hand as she spoke.
“Daed would have just denied it. Besides, it would have made things worse for me.”
“I don’t see how they could get any worse.”
“Trust me, Amanda. It did.”
Her arms ached to hold him. She couldn’t stand thinking about what he had suffered at the hands of his own father, and she could see by the tortured look in his eyes that he was reliving those memories.
“When we got to Indiana, we didn’t know anyone. I think Daed thought the move would give us a fresh start. For a time things were okay. He got a job working in one of the RV factories there, and I did some odd jobs for some of the Amish and Englisch that lived near us. He bought a small trailer, and we moved in. At least he stopped hitting me for a while. But that didn’t last very long. A couple years later he started drinking. A lot, which made his temper worse.”
“Oh no,” Amanda whispered.
“I was almost seventeen and ready to move out anyway. I was sick of him yelling at me and smacking me around, and I had made some friends with a few Englisch guys. I moved in with them for a couple years. I tried living their fancy lifestyle—I even bought a car—but it wasn’t for me. By this time my daed had drunk himself sick.” Josiah went and sat on one of the hay bales, his shoulders drooping. “I ended up having to take care of him.”
Amanda went to him and sat down, letting the handle of the lantern dangle from her fingers. “Josiah, why didn’t you get in touch with me?”
He looked at her with a sad smile. “You couldn’t fix this, Amanda. Although I have no doubt you would have tried.”
“What happened to your father?”
“He died when I was twenty-two. He got drunk one night, and on his way to the bathroom he tripped and fell. Hit his head against the corner of his dresser. When I found him, he was dead.”
“Josiah, I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.” He stared straight ahead. “At least a part of me isn’t. I didn’t recognize him anymore. He wasn’t my father by that point.”
She reached for his hand, but he moved. “Josiah, don’t pull away from me. Not now.”
“I’m not finished. What I didn’t tell you is that I not only didn’t recognize my father anymore, I didn’t recognize myself.”
“What do you mean?”
He popped up from the bale. “I’m just like him, Amanda. Sometimes I get so angry I can feel it boiling inside my veins, running through my body. My temper is just as bad as his.”
“But you’re not him, Josiah. You would never hurt anyone.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I know how important it is for the Amish to be peaceful. To swallow their anger and turn the other cheek. Even though I didn’t see that with my father, I understood that controlling those impulses is a basic tenet of the faith. And that’s the problem. I can’t control them.” He looked at her, and she saw the shame in his eyes. “I hit my daed, Amanda. And not just once, either. We didn’t just argue, we fought.”
Amanda shut her eyes against what he had just revealed. She could barely fathom that gentle Josiah, the boy who wouldn’t even step on a spider or squash a bug, would ever hit another person, much less his own father. Yet she couldn’t doubt his words either.
“Now you see why I can’t stay here. Why I keep pushing you away. Why I can’t marry.” He squatted down on the floor and held his head in his hands. “I can’t risk hurting anyone else.”
Heat emanated from the lantern, so she set it on the floor of the barn, well away from the hay bales and anything else that might catch fire. Tentatively she knelt down and put her arm around his shoulders, glad when he didn’t pull away. “Josiah, listen to me. Everyone gets angry.”
He looked up at her, his gaze narrowing. “Don’t patronize me, Amanda. I know everyone gets angry. The difference is they can control it. I can’t.”
“With the Lord’s help you can.”
“The Lord’s help?” He let out a bitter laugh, then sat on the ground, slipping out from beneath her embrace. “God abandoned me long ago.”
“God is faithful, Josiah. He would never abandon us.”
“Easy for you to say. Your mamm didn’t die and your daed didn’t beat you on a regular basis.”
Amanda cringed, properly chastised. “I suppose it does sound like a platitude. I didn’t live your life, and I can see where you might doubt God’s presence.” She said a silent prayer for the Lord to give her the right words before she continued. “But, Josiah, He was with you. You had to have amazing inner strength to survive what you did. That type of strength comes from God.”
“I did what I had to do.” He looked at her. “I’m still doing what I have to.” He rose from the floor and retrieved his hat, then put it on. “I’ve told you everything, the whole sorry story.”
She stood and faced him. “I know. And I’m still here.”
He looked at her for a long moment, a myriad of emotions crossing his features. Shame. Anguish. And for a fleeting instance, hope. Then his expression hardened. “Geh home, Amanda. Forget we ever had this conversation.”
“I can’t just forget what you told me, Josiah.”
“You have to. I’ll be gone soon, once the house is sold.”
“You think running away is going to fix everything? That didn’t work out so well for your daed, did it? You can’t keep running from the past, or from God. You’ll never be free if you do.”
“Maybe I don’t deserve to be free. I hit my own daed, Amanda. What kind of sohn does that?”
“A sohn who was abandoned by his vatter, and who thought everyone else had abandoned him too.”
He didn’t look convinced. “I know you want to fix this, Amanda. To fix me. But you can’t.”
“Oh, I know I can’t. Only God can do that.” She reached for his hand, squeezing tightly when she sensed him pulling away. “I want to pray for you, Josiah. Will you let me do that much?”
Pain like he’d never experienced welled up inside him. He had thought, or at least sincerely hoped, that when he had confessed everything to Amanda, she woul
d leave him alone. But he should have known better. Amanda Graber never knew an underdog she couldn’t champion or a lost cause she wouldn’t support. She just couldn’t understand he wasn’t worth saving.
That thought had hit home when she had admitted she loved him. The words lifted up his heart while crushing his soul. Other than his mother, and for a short while his uncle, Amanda had been the only good thing in his life. Then when he moved, when she had been taken away from him, he knew God had written him off. Somehow he’d managed to go through the motions of life since then, not feeling much of anything except rage at his father, a rage he had expressed with his fists, just like his daed. He’d only punched his daed twice, but the look of shock and betrayal on Levi Bontrager’s face was permanently stamped on Josiah’s memory.
Why couldn’t she see how dangerous he was? Even if he could afford to entertain the thought of a future with her, she could never trust that he wouldn’t lose his temper with her or their children. Yet she stood strong, wanting to pray for him. “It won’t do any gut,” he muttered, knowing if he refused she would persist until he gave in.
“I think you’ll be surprised at how much gut it will do.” She gripped his hand and bowed her head. The words of her prayer skimmed over him, having little effect on his emotions or his opinion of himself. When she finished, she looked up at him, her eyes consumed with anticipation.
Her hand felt so soft and warm in his, he never wanted to let go. But he did. “It’s late, Amanda. You need to get home.”
She’d obviously expected some kind of miracle from her little prayer. He knew from experience that prayer didn’t work. He’d said enough prayers after his mother became ill to last a lifetime.
“All right, I’ll geh.” She started for the door, only to turn around and rush toward him.
She threw her arms around him, drawing him against her. “This isn’t the end, Josiah,” she whispered in his ear. Her embrace tightened. “I still love you. God loves you too. One day you’ll believe both of us.” She released him, then turned and fled.
